


Snippets & Outtakes

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 9,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: Various bits and pieces that are either outtakes from longer works of my Mystrade-verse or too short to stand on their own. Interluded with silly little dialogues as an "extra" so to speak (when not part of my headcanon it will be noted thusly at the start of each chapter)





	1. Outtake from "Oliver": Sherlock at the hospital

**Author's Note:**

> Because you (well one of you) asked for it.

Being confined to a hospital room wasn’t exactly Mycroft’s idea of a constructive way to occupy his time but right now he didn’t have much of a choice. And Gregory had even taken his mobile away when he left to grab himself something to eat, making sure Mycroft wouldn’t secretly try and run the country when he should recuperate from his concussion.

 

Still when the door opened his relief was short-lived as Sherlock entered his room.

 

“Hello, Mycroft.”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

The younger Holmes unceremoniously let himself drop onto the visitor’s chair. He looked at his brother with an expression that could be read as either annoyed or smug.

 

Mycroft waited if his brother would speak up but apparently Sherlock waited for him to open this conversation.

 

“You obviously came here to say something. So why don’t you start, brother-mine?”

 

Sherlock tilted his head, curious at the lack of clear aggression in his brother’s voice.

 

“You do realise you acted like a complete idiot.”

 

“For once I actually agree with your assessment of the situation.”

 

“You should have left the moment McIntyre came to London.”

 

“That’s hardly practical, Sherlock. Some of us have responsibilities and a day job.” Mycroft stated tiredly.

 

“Just decide that some crisis in Barbuda needs your immediate presence, I’m sure you could have come up with an excuse. It would certainly have been better than staying in the presence of that man.”

 

Mycroft sighed. “Despite your belief to the contrary, Oliver is not a bad person.”

 

“I don’t give a damn whether he is a bad person. I know he is bad for you, brother-mine.”

 

With another sigh Mycroft sank back into the pillows. “I don’t think your assessment is entirely fair, Sherlock.”

 

“The last time you were in a hospital bed it was because of him as well. You were the one to teach me not to believe in coincidences.”

 

“And in neither case it was Oliver’s fault.”

 

“You wouldn’t be lying there if he hadn’t been here. He has led the madman here. He has written you into his stupid books. I don’t really care if that’s intentional on McIntyre’s side or not.”

 

“So you came here to announce your dislike of Oliver McIntyre and lecture me on the fact that you ‘always said so’?”

 

“No, we both know I always warned you about him. I’m here to tell you off for being a terrible twat.”

 

“In what instance specifically?” Mycroft tried very hard to keep his voice neutral on the verge of bored. It wouldn’t do to let Sherlock see how close he was hitting to home.

 

“You should have come to me to talk at least when McIntyre popped up if you insisted on not simply leaving. I already knew all the worst parts you don’t want to talk about, so you could have someone to talk to instead of hiding inside your own head.”

 

Mycroft raised both eyebrows in surprise. Sherlock offering him an open ear had to be a first this decade.

 

“But instead you immediately assume me to be your enemy and burst into the Yard accusing me of manipulating Lestrade into arresting McIntyre.” Now Sherlock sounded almost angry.

 

“Don’t tell me the thought would have never crossed your mind.”

 

Sherlock swept that objection aside. “I certainly never would have thought I could get away with lying to Lestrade like that. He isn’t that stupid. Something you obviously forgot. We both know you have always been ready to believe the worst of me, Mycroft. But if you really think so little of the man sharing your bed then I do have to wonder about you.”

 

Now Mycroft was actually surprised. He would have never expected Sherlock to argue on the behalf of someone beside himself. “I can assure you that I hold Gregory and his opinion in the highest regard, brother-mine. But I have to say I’m surprised by your interest in this.”

 

Sherlock now definitely looked annoyed. “Do I have to spell it out for you, really? I thought you were supposed to be the clever one. Lestrade has been good for you and you are doing your best to screw it up.”

 

“Sherlock…”

 

“I don’t claim to be the most observant when it comes to people’s emotions. It’s not as if they are all that relevant. But you hurt him, Mycie.”

 

Mycroft closed his eyes. “I know, Sherlock, I…” He stopped as Gregory entered, coming back from his dinner.

 

“Sherlock, hello. What are you doing here?”

 

“Just reminding my brother that he now has lost the moral high ground when it comes to getting yourself into trouble with crazy criminals.”

 

“As always Sherlock has his very own perspective on the situation at hand.”

 

Greg chuckled. “He has a point though, in a way.”

 

“As long as you completely ignore the role intent plays in the likeliness of results. I would hardly compare going to buy cake with regularly chasing madmen over rooftops.”

 

“Nevertheless I am tempted to call Mummy to tell her she needs to visit you in the hospital. That might teach you a lesson.”

 

Seeing the look of horror on Mycroft’s face, Greg decided to intervene. “Now, Sherlock, I don’t think you need to bring Violet into this. Anthea and I are making his life terrible enough as it is.”

 

The consulting detective got up, ready to leave. “Well I’ve got places to be. Have fun making his life terrible, George.” On his way out he caught his brother’s eyes. It was a good thing they knew each other well enough to read facial expression and body language, so Mycroft didn’t have to say the ‘Thank you for caring, Sherl’ out loud.


	2. Dialogue 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a joined effort between Ansela (a chat buddy of mine) and me. So thanks to her for being silly with me.
> 
> Not a part of my Mystrade-verse head-canon.

Mycroft: “Calling Sherlock an "adult" is kind of a stretch don't you think?”

 

Sherlock: “SHUT UP Mycroft!”

 

Mycroft:” You require reminders to sleep, eat, and sometimes even to change your clothes and bathe. What part of that description suggests adult? And no, Sherlock, your passport is NOT an appropriate answer."

 

Sherlock: "I do not require reminders to bathe. What a ridiculous suggestion."

 

John in the kitchen: “You went two weeks without showering until I got fed up and forced you into the bathroom.”

 

Mycroft: “I rest my case brother-mine. Good Night.”

 

Sherlock: “Good night, Myc.”

 

Mycroft: “Oh for Heaven’s sake Sherlock, since when have you become incapable of using my full name?!”

 

Sherlock: “Since I wanted to irritate you.”

 

Mycroft: ”You do that just fine through your regular existence, thank you very much.”

 

Sherlock: “You would be bored without me.”

 

Mycroft: “Unlike you "bored" isn't the worst thing imaginable to me.” (his expression softens) “But I would miss you."

 

Sherlock: “Being bored is as bad as being dead."

 

Mycroft: "So that's why you always try to reach the second state whenever you’re faced with the first?”

 

Sherlock: “It is an unintended side effect of finding something interesting to do. It would help if people stopped trying to kill me.”

 

Mycroft: "Improving your manners might help in that regard. Also, I hear Doctor Watson is 'something interesting'."

 

Sherlock: “Did you just make a dirty joke, Myc?”

 

John:"I don't know if I should be offended about being referred to as a 'thing' or happy that your brother told you to 'do' me."

 

Mycroft: "I NEVER make 'jokes'."


	3. "Meeting the Family" - Epilogue

In the back of the car Mycroft visibly relaxed as the driver made his way back to London. Greg watched him sinking back against the seats, closing his eyes just for a moment, sighing: “That went better than could be expected.”

 

Greg loved My, but despite all the warmth and affection he felt for the other man, he couldn’t stop himself from teasing him just a little bit.

 

“Thomas the cat?” He didn’t even try to cover the amused disbelieve in his voice.

 

Mycroft pursed his lips in a show of distaste. “He was already named by the shelter.”

 

“OK - honestly, My, how in all the world did YOU end up with a cat?”

 

“Oliver and I shared a flat during his last year of uni. It was solely his idea I assure you. He and the cat adored each other yet when he moved out, Thomas still got stuck with me for several reasons. Perfectly logical reasons I might add. So I owned a cat until I was thirty one.”

 

“So you kept him til his death?” Somehow Greg found this utterly touching and utterly fitting.

 

“Naturally.”

 

“What kind of cat was Thomas?” Now he really was curious. A pet Mycroft had cared for for about a decade and this was the first time he even heard about it.

 

“Huge, grumpy, ginger. He hated my guts to be honest. He expected to be fed, sheltered, and have his messes cleaned up but if I so much as entered a room he currently occupied, he left in a huff. And god forbid I tried to touch him. It didn’t matter if I had to bring him to the vet or if he actually came to me for a change demanding to be petted - it inevitably ended with him hissing and scratching me. For a while I considered calling him Sherlock.”

 

Greg laughed. “OK, I get it - not a cat person.” He put his arm around the other man drawing him close.

 

“Definitely not.” Mycroft agreed as he leaned against his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally head-canon :)


	4. Dialogue 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one that has AJ as a co-author :)
> 
> Not part of my Mystrade head-canon.

John: “Sherlock... what do you mean there's a bomb under Mycroft's car? AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'VE NOT PASSED THIS INFORMATION ON?!”

 

Sherlock: "If we want to catch the suspect in the act it's paramount that the reactions of everyone are genuine"

 

John: "He uses bombs wired to the ignition with a secondary pressure plate detonator under the driver's seat. He isn't going to be anywhere nearby when it goes off. Unlike your BROTHER!"

 

Sherlock: "The culprit wants to make sure he really gets Mycroft. It's personal, so he will be close by. And why do you keep shouting at me like that, John?”

 

John: "Because you sometimes need to be shouted at."

 

Sherlock: "I can assure you my ears are in perfect working order. Every remnant of the tinnitus after the explosion in the kitchen last month has passed by now. Now will you continue to write texts or will you come and help me catch my brother's would-be-murderer?"

 

John: "You don't need to sound so gleeful about someone trying to kill your brother."

 

Sherlock: "Someone besides myself you mean." (grins) "It's always nice to meet new people you share a common interest with."

 

John: "You need help."

 

Sherlock: "Killing Mycroft? Under no circumstances. IF someone kills that annoying twat it will be me and no one else. Which is why we need to CATCH that killer. Come on now John, the game is on."

 

John: "I meant psychological help."

 

Sherlock: "I think it will be enough to physically catch him. We won't need to analyse him for that."

 

John -sighs-: "Never mind. Oh, and that text I sent was to Mycroft. Turns out his people already knew about this threat and they're ready to arrest him. And his accomplices."

 

Sherlock: "You texted MYCROFT?! Spoilsport."

 

John: "Yes."

 

Sherlock goes to pout on the couch for the next 3 days...


	5. Moment of insecurity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely part of my headcanon Mystrade-verse...

“What’s going through that head of yours, Love?” Greg studied the man next to him in bed. Mycroft seemed to be more somber and lost in thought than usual. Greg gently combed through the thinning hair, grateful for this moment of peace and quiet together, a luxury they could enjoy far too seldom.

 

Mycroft leaned into his lover’s hand, clearly savouring the physical contact. He sighed, carefully contemplating his words. Explaining himself to Gregory often helped him to get his own thoughts and emotions in order. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; before he got involved with the policeman, he would have scoffed at the thought of having to explain himself to one of the “goldfish” having any merit. Now experience had taught him better.

 

“I’m thinking about Sherlock and John.” 

 

Greg watched his lover staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to continue. He had long ago learned that in moments like this talking didn’t help and would only divert the flow of Mycroft’s thoughts. The politician was brilliant and could quickly come up with witty retorts or precise and correct answers to the most difficult problems. Yet when it came to emotions, Mycroft needed time to pinpoint the exact source of his discomfort before speaking, needed time to choose his words with care. 

 

“Today at the ministry the two of them behaved… less than ideally. But they clearly had fun. They enjoyed themselves.” There was another pause. “That’s something I envy John.”

 

Now they were getting somewhere. Usually Mycroft Holmes acted as if he didn’t even possess normal human emotion, when he actually talked about his feelings they were clearly bothering him.

 

“You envying John Watson?” Greg slightly shifted his position, moving closer.

 

“John and I don’t always see eye to eye but he shares something with Sherlock, something I somehow can’t… Even if he doesn’t hate me, as he so often claims, he still sees me as an arrogant, self-pompous, humourless git.”

 

“Well to be fair, you can be a bit of a git sometimes - same as everyone, present speaker not excluded.”

 

Hearing the warmth and affection in Gregory’s voice, Mycroft felt part of the tension flowing out of him.

 

“But I wouldn’t exactly call you arrogant. There’s a difference between believing to be more intelligent than almost everyone else and knowing it, My. You do in fact know better.”

 

“Most of the time,” the elder Holmes conceded.

 

Greg chuckled. “Most of the time,” he agreed and pressed a kiss on his lover’s chest. “I’ve met arrogant, self-pompous men. Most of the people you work with are like that. But if Sherlock can’t tell the difference, he’s an idiot. Even more so than you usually make him out to be.”

 

“You know, Gregory, I think you might be biased in your assessment of the situation.”

 

“I probably am, Love. But so is Sherlock. And I’m pretty sure he says those things mainly to annoy you.”

 

“Probably - like I said, I do envy John sometimes.” Mycroft still looked at the ceiling. His fingers were intertwined with Greg’s and took comfort in the slight reassuring squeeze. “They share a laugh and I am the bad guy telling them to stop, only resulting in both of them rolling their eyes behind my back like schoolboys.”

 

“Which only means you are an actual adult, My. You asked them for help in a delicate situation and their behaviour was inappropriate. I like John but your brother brings out the worst in him sometimes.”

 

“I’m afraid he does that to people, even I myself am not immune.”

 

Greg chuckled. It was true that Mycroft never was as impatient or easily annoyed as when he was around his brother. He laid his head on Mycroft’s chest, listening to his breathing and his heart beating.

 

“John shares a part of Sherlock you don’t, that’s true. But so do Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and me. People share different parts of themselves with others. And you share a bond with Sherlock John will never know or understand.” Greg could practically hear his lover’s doubting frown. “I’ve watched the two of you years before John even made an appearance. No matter how much Sherlock denies it, he is closer to you than anyone else in this world. You are the only one who fully understands him. And vice versa I might add. That’s something I envy Sherlock sometimes, how he so obviously can follow almost all your thoughts.” He put a gentle kiss, on the chest below his head. “But all things considered, I wouldn’t want to swap positions.”

 

“Did I ever tell you that you are a very wise man, Gregory?”

 

Greg lifted his head in surprise looking at his lover. “No, you didn’t.”

 

“Well, you are and I’m very grateful that I found you and that you decided to put up with me.”

 

Unsure what to say to that he leaned over to put a passionate kiss on Mycroft Holmes’ lips. “I love you too, My.”


	6. Dialogue 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's all mine. Also it's kinda a prologue to "Birthday".

Sherlock: "What shall I get Galahad for his birthday? I should maybe get him the complete works of the Sex Pistols on vinyl... But Mycroft was exceedingly nice to me over the last couple of months so..."

 

John: "How about some lube?"

 

Sherlock: "Oh, that's a brilliant idea."

 

John: "That was a JOKE, Sherlock. Most people are icked out considering their sibling's sex life."

 

Sherlock: "Oh - ehm - eek John, oh no - don't remind me that my elder brother actually has sex now?"

 

John sighs: “Yes, something like that."

 

Sherlock: "Well, what SHOULD I get Germaine? I mean something which won't annoy Mycroft in the best case scenario."

 

John: "How about actually acting like a thoughtful guest for the visit? I bet both of them would appreciate that."

 

Sherlock: "Well, I'll try, but that one is non-refundable."


	7. "Persephone" - prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can't ever keep Mystrade out of my fics it seems...
> 
> Not part of the "Life & Love" verse

The one thing Mycroft Holmes didn’t expect when he opened the door to his home with Gregory at his side was to be greeted with meowing.  
An explosion triggered by opening the door, a bullet from a sniper, Sherlock’s random ramblings about some thing or another - all those were to be expected. A friendly, curious young Siamese who had managed to escape her transport box wasn’t.

 

An envelope sitting atop the box revealed a handwritten note on expensive paper, informing him that Uncle Rudy sent his best wishes for his birthday and hoped that “Persephone” would prove to be the lovely self-reliant company a man in Mycroft’s position needed to avoid coming home to an empty, lonely house.

 

Greg raised an eyebrow. “I guess you never told Uncle Rudy about your change in living arrangements?”

 

“I see the man every other decade and he has very traditional values, like a marriage is a sacred union between a man and a woman, crossdressing, that kind of thing.” Mycroft watched as Persephone started to sniff his shoes carefully. “Why do people keep dropping CATS in my lap all the time?!"

 

"I don't think twice over the course of three decades counts as 'all the time', My." Greg chuckled at the look of dismay in Mycroft’s face.

 

"You are AMUSED by this."

 

"Maybe..."

 

Persephone began rubbing her head against Mycroft’s immaculate trousers in the way of greeting.

 

"There's HAIR on my suit."

 

Greg began to sneeze in the middle of giggling.

 

"Oh - are you..."

 

Greg nodded. "Allergic - I'm afraid we have to find her another home."

 

"Definitely."

 

Watching the cat jump up the chest of drawers to get a better look at the humans, Greg smiled despite his itching nose. "It's a pity, she IS cute."

 

Persephone purred at the sound of Greg’s voice.

 

"I won't have you sneeze and sniffle all the time. And you - STOP IT. I'm used to withstanding Sherlock's puppy dog eyes."

 

"Sherlock's what?"

 

"He could be cute when he wanted something. But don’t tell him I ever said that. The embarrassment would kill us both."

 

Greg rolled his eyes but still chuckled which then immediately turned into sneezes. "OK, let’s call Anthea. It's her job to take care of problems for you."

 

Mycroft was way ahead of his lover and already on his phone.

 

In the meantime Persephone had found the most comfortable seat, curled up, and gone to sleep right on Greg's favourite armchair.


	8. Dialogue 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from Sherlock's childhood/Mycroft's youth. Partly by my buddy Ansela again :)
> 
> Not part of the Mystrade-headcanon.

Mycroft: "Sherlock, classical music is supposed to be appreciated at a sensible volume, not at decibel levels reminiscent of Heathrow Airport at peak times."

Sherlock: "Don't be silly, Myc. This is twice as loud as Heathrow's average peak decibel level."  
______________

Sherlock: "Hi Mycie, guess what happens to your favourite tie when you put it into hydrochloric acid solution of 20%?"

Mummy: "MYCROFT! Stop strangling your brother THIS instance!"  
________________________

Sherlock: "If Mummy asks - the Marlboros are yours."

Mycroft: "Why would I ever lie to cover your ass, brother-mine?"

Sherlock: "Well if you don't, I'm sure, Mummy would LOVE to learn how you taught me that diamonds burn RIGHT before grandmere's jewellery took irreparable damage. - I already got in trouble for it back then, I've got nothing to lose."  
________________________

Sherlock: "Myc, before you come onto the lawn I have to warn you that I have laid homemade pressure sensitive landmines in a pattern that I am sure you can figure out. Oh, and I have your favourite books here."  
___________

Sherlock with a smirk: "What happened Mycie? You look tense."

Mycroft: "Do you have any idea what kind of inbred moron currently is my boss? Not to speak of HIS boss. And HIS. I know it's only a temporary state of affairs but..."

Sherlock shrugs: "You could always get rid of them permanently. It's not as if anyone would be able to catch YOU."

Mycroft (looks tempted for a moment): “No, Sherlock, no I can’t.”


	9. Anthea

Mycroft Holmes entered the halls of MI6 without a problem. He usually didn’t come here but his I.D. card ensured that no one even thought about stopping him or ask where he was going. The narrow halls and the distinct impression that literally everyone in here was a spy watching his every move were more than enough reason for him to prefer the informal lunch meetings he usually had with M. But circumstances had made it necessary he’d go and talk with her now.

 

Entering the outer office Mycroft nodded at the young woman behind the desk.

 

“Ms. Moneypenny.”

 

“Mr. Holmes.” She sounded and looked surprised. She had never before met him but of course she recognised him. “I wasn’t aware you had an appointment today.”

 

“I didn’t. I do now. Unless of course M is busy with something more important. Then I’ll wait.”

 

It was amusing to watch her hide her panic at the thought of having Mycroft Holmes patiently waiting out here with her. She put on her most professional smile. “No need, Mr. Holmes. She currently has an open window on her schedule. I’ll inform her that you’re here immediately.”

 

“Please do.” Mycroft stated agreeable before continuing on towards M’s office. He wasn’t in the mood to give the woman any more time to brace herself than was absolutely necessary.

 

He heard Moneypenny’s voice announcing him just as he opened the door, immediately being met by M’s disapproving glance. There weren’t many people who would have the gall to look at Mycroft that way while at the same time getting who and what he actually was. Mycroft liked M. It was so refreshing to deal with someone remotely intelligent who also possessed a backbone.

 

“Holmes.”

 

He closed the door behind himself with a professional smile before walking over to the chair in front of her desk. “And a good day to you, M.”

 

He stood next to the seat waiting expectantly.

 

She looked almost annoyed enough to let him stand there but decided against it. A quick gesture invited him to take a seat but her expression couldn’t be mistaken as friendly or even courteous.

 

In a way Mycroft could sympathise - he would have reacted less open about it but he would have felt exactly the same if anyone had barged unannounced into his office while he was trying to work. But that was the point.

 

“This won’t do.” He stated.

 

“While I agree that your behaviour is less than ideal, I highly doubt that’s what you’re talking about.” She leaned back in her chair waiting for him to elaborate.

 

“I found her. She’s mine.”

 

“Ah.” M was impressed that he had found out this quickly. “I only made her an offer, Holmes. The choice is completely up to her. Besides she is sinfully wasted in her current position.”

 

“I found her in the dreadful pit of the secretary pool. I handpicked her for her considerable talents and competence. She’s not yours to use as a disposable tool.”

 

“None of my agents is simply disposable to me, Holmes. You’re thinking of yourself there. I looked her up. She has the right psych profile to be a valuable asset - maybe even a double-0 if her marksmen skills are adequate. Keeping her to yourself is atypically egotistical of you.” With her last words her voice had gone softer. She knew Mycroft Holmes and how much he regularly sacrificed to serve his country.

 

He sighed. Maybe it was time to let her glance a well-calculated bit of vulnerability. “I need her, M.”

 

“Why?”

 

“While you have the whole of MI6, I don’t technically have a department. I have a very vaguely defined position and access to almost everyone else’s resources if needs command but the main body of my work is done all by myself, the most vital parts in my head. I need to start training a couple of possible replacements some day. And it would certainly help if I had a personal assistant who was not going to kill me or drive me insane - either by design or sheer incompetence.”

 

M closed her eyes, contemplating Mycroft’s words.

 

“As usual you are right. That is one of your more annoying habits. Still…”

 

“You want to train her.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“Some people just demand to be trained.” She looked at him knowingly.

 

“Well, you could train her - if she wants to that is. It would be convenient for me to have a PA that can be relied to look after herself in emergencies, maybe even myself if it becomes necessary. She could act as your little insurance to make sure I don’t turn into an evil overlord on your watch.”

 

“She could be our official liaison.” M agreed.

 

“And we’ll both be secretly convinced that she’s loyal to us in the last consequence, not the other one.”

 

That last one brought an actual smile to her lips. “Won’t it be fun finding out which one of us is right?” She asked.

 

He allowed himself a small smile of agreement.

 

“God, Holmes, why did you ever have to leave us?”

 

“Fieldwork simply isn’t my forte, M. I was rubbish the moment I had to run anywhere.” With a wink and a chuckle he got out of his chair. “I’ll see you on Friday?”

 

“For lunch,” she agreed and turned back to her paperwork, trusting that Mycroft Holmes would see himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M is Judy Dench's M from the modern Bond movies. After seeing her there could never be another in my heart.
> 
> Ansela claimed Anthea was MI6. My brain agreed. So this is definitely headcanon for the "Life and Love"-verse.


	10. The Deadly Manflu - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matomato asked, colds are contagious... here you go:

Mycroft Holmes was annoyed. Not that that was remarkable in and of itself. Mycroft Holmes got annoyed easily and at all kinds of things, most often his brother. Right now he was annoyed at the failings of his own body though.

 

“You know I wondered how calmly you acted around me the whole week. You must have been aware of the risk of contagion.”

 

“I don’t get ill.” Mycroft stated gloomily. His dark glare lost most of its potential to intimidate though, coming from swollen eyes above  a runny nose.

 

“Everyone gets ill, My.” Greg was feeling a lot better, even if he still needed ungodly amounts of tissues. “And didn’t you tell me about how your mum cared for you when you were ill as a child?”

 

“The last time I succumbed to any pathogen was when I was twenty-six after my first visit to Asia. This…” He blew his nose. “...is rather unacceptable.”

 

“You know - I know this will come back to bite me in the ass - maybe kissing a sweaty bacteria-factory wasn’t the best idea.”

 

“I work out. I take vitamins. My immune system should have been more than ready to deal with a few common cold germs.”

 

“You spend most of your time indoors, Love. Away from nasty people. I highly doubt your immune system gets regular workouts to keep it strong.”

 

“So far it’s been more than adequate.” Mycroft fought his way out of bed.

 

“What are you doing, My? You can’t go to work like this.” Greg was at his side instantly to gently push him back under the covers. While he still wasn’t completely fine, he felt more than able to face the necessities of brewing some tea and looking after his lover who was just facing the terrible first twenty-four hours of illness.

 

“I’m well aware of the facts, Gregory.” Mycroft sneezed loudly. “I will just go and fetch my laptop. Working from the bed will be better than doing nothing.”

 

“You should try and sleep, Love.”

 

“I won’t be able to do so as long as I haven’t cleared up the Maltese situation. And while Anthea is more than capable, she will need my input on at least two meetings today.”

 

Despite the fact that he was feeling far better than Mycroft right now, Greg still knew that he was no match for the Holmesian stubbornness. “I’ll go and make us some tea then.”

 

“That sounds lovely.” The croaky voice and slight coughing destroyed the impression of perfect calm Mycroft tried to convey.

  
  


Greg was fascinated. Mycroft despite his coughing, the running nose, and the swollen eyes never once complained. The way he closed his eyes from time to time, taking a few deep breaths before continuing to work, the way he held himself, all showed Greg that Mycroft was indeed suffering from the same kind of headaches and aching joints that had plagued him over the last couple of days. But his behaviour stayed as courteous as ever. 

 

Greg didn’t feel like doing much himself yet, so he spent his day mostly curled up in bed next to Mycroft, reading a bad romance novel.

 

Mycroft on the other hand not only managed to work more or less continuously but also remembered to take in the appropriate amount of liquids. He didn’t even complain about the instant broth.

 

Greg was honestly contemplating if he should start to hate Mycroft and his ability to be damn near perfect.

 

At around three in the afternoon, Mycroft closed his laptop with a bone-deep sigh.

 

Greg looked up from the description of an orgasm as a living beast that grabbed the protagonist by the throat, shaking him. “Are you OK?”

 

Mycroft’s face said it all.

 

“OK - stupid question. Do you need something?”

 

“A working immune system. But I highly doubt you have one you can spare.” Another coughing fit made him pause for a minute. “I think there is some fresh sage in the kitchen. Would you mind brewing me some tea from it? It might stop the coughing enough for me to get some rest.”

 

“You’ve finished working?” Greg was already getting up to go to the kitchen.

 

“I did what I could. The rest will be up to Anthea and a handful of other people I groom exactly for that purpose.”

 

“Good. I’ll be back in a few.” He really wished that Mycroft would be better at leaving things to other people. It would make things so much easier. But since that was as realistic a wish as hoping the sun would go up in the west, he simply would have to settle with doing his best to help.

  
  


Mycroft drank the sage-tea in small sips. Greg thought the stuff was disgusting and he knew that My didn’t like it either. But at least it seemed to help with the coughing.

 

“Shall I leave to let you sleep? I could easily read on the couch.”

 

There was a short pause. “If it’s all the same to you,… I would prefer having you here.”

 

A small smile played around Greg’s lips. “Good, I prefer staying around too.”

  
  


Apparently Mycroft wasn’t able to sleep though. He spent over an hour tossing and turning, unable to shut off his brain enough so that his body could give into exhaustion. It wasn’t an unknown phenomenon and Greg had witnessed it countless times before. But neither having him solve all problems currently troubling him nor distracting and exhausting him by making blissful love until he finally fell asleep seemed viable options. The longer it lasted the more frustration built in Mycroft. Greg could tell that soon his lover would start getting terribly irritated and irrational, snapping at anyone in the general vicinity. He got up to give them both a few more moments of peace. When he went to the living room to switch out his novel for another badly worn down paperback his eyes fell on a book in Mycroft’s neatly organised shelf. He smiled.

 

When he sat down Mycroft didn’t look up, still trying very hard to relax into sleep.

 

Greg opened the book and began reading aloud.

 

“Definition 1: A point is that which has no parts…”

 

Next to him the tension slowly seeped out of his lover’s body as he listened to Gregory’s soothing voice lulling him into sleep.


	11. Dialogue - Forgot the anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I stumbled upon this fic where the whole idea was that Mycroft would somehow completely forget his anniversary with Greg and be completely oblivious causing much heartache. IF anything like that would happen it would probably go something like this...

"My, do you know what date's today?"

"Frankly? I lost count about three or four days ago in Dubai, let me... OH no. I'm sorry, Gregory I should have called earlier."

"My? You look terrible. Get into bed and catch up on sleep."

"But our plans for today..."

"Can be rescheduled. Don't be silly, Love. We both will enjoy a dinner for two a lot more if you don't fall asleep halfway through the main course."

"Thanks for being this understanding."

Greg tugs him in: "I missed three out of my five last wedding anniversaries because of work." He puts a kiss on the Holmesian nose. "We two were made for each other."


	12. Dialogue - Planning the wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 'Oliver' obviously part of my Mystrade headcanon.

“Mycroft Holmes, you can forget all about your silly plans this instant.”

The British Government furrowed his brow. “I’d hardly call…”

“I won’t elope with you.”

“A London register office isn’t exactly el…”

“I won’t steal away in secrecy to just get it over with in our lunch hour.”

“I never said…”

“Absolutely NOT. This is our wedding you’re talking about!”

Mycroft waited if his fiance had anything to add or if he had a chance to say something now.

“Are you quite finished?”

“I haven’t even started, My.”

“May I add something to this conversation or do you want to rant on on your own for a bit?”

Lestrade blinked. His expression changed from annoyed to ‘close to seriously pissed off’. His voice was low when he spoke. “Watch it, Mycroft. You’re on very thin ice right now.”

The government official took a deep breath. He didn’t want to fight. “My apologies. That last comment wasn’t appropriate.”

Greg began to relax.

“But for the record - neither was your outburst, Gregory.”

Lestrade’s jaw clenched. Then he nodded. “OK. Fair enough. So let’s start over. My - this is our wedding. It’s important. I don’t want to treat it as if it’s an annoying clerical duty that needs to get done. Your plan does exactly that, treating it as if it didn’t matter.”

“Gregory I would never look upon our relationship as unimportant or annoying. It is true that I think a certificate - while it comes with many advantages - holds no special value in and of its own. And I certainly don’t care about sentimental rituals surrounding it. Nevertheless this is our wedding not mine and I just made a proposition, a place to start planning. It certainly wasn’t intended as a plan.”

Greg relaxed and closed his eyes in relief for a short moment. “I love you, My. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And while the important part is that you know that, I want to declare it in front of the people who are most important to us.”

Mycroft let a small sigh escape. “Who were you thinking of?”

“Sherlock, your parents, my mum, Sue and her family.”

“And?”

“Those are basically non-negotiable. There are a few others who I would like to see there but it’s probably easiest to stick to these. Our friends will understand and it will stop any discussions and disappointed faces if we stick to family only.”

“What about your brother?”

“The guy who actually despises me and hates you, as Sherlock so nicely pointed out? I really don’t need people like that at my wedding.”

“So you don’t insist on a big reception and party?”

“I had that for my first marriage - and fat load of good it did. I can satisfy my need to party with the mates on the stag night.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “A stag night?”

“Sally already took over the planning and I can’t wait to see some of the guys squirm in their seats when the male stripper arrives. Don’t worry, it’s all going to be a bit of fun and you can spend a quiet evening reading or whatever else you want to do.”

“Thank god. I don’t think I would survive spending a night drinking in public with my brother as company.”

“And for the wedding: you, me, our families, and a lovely dinner out with everybody would be more than enough.”

“Would Fredo’s be acceptable?”

Greg leaned in for a kiss. “Fredo’s is perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fredo's being the small restaurant where they had their first date. For those who can't remember ;)


	13. Midnight Munchies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvana_Floete prompted me...  
> Also completely part of my Mystrade headcanon.

When Mycroft woke up in the middle of the night, he knew exactly what had disturbed his rest. The bed had turned cold and distinctively too huge. He wondered where Gregory had gone. If it was a simple case of going to the loo, he wouldn't have woken, and the other side of the bed would still hold a residue of warmth. Maybe something was wrong?

Mycroft listened if he heard any sounds from down the hall but whatever had kept Gregory away from him didn't produce enough noise to penetrate the old massive oak door and the solid walls. When his lover didn't return within a few moments, Mycroft grew more awake instead of working his way back to sleep. With a sigh he finally gave in and heaved himself out of bed, slipping into his well worn slippers as well as his dressing gown to shield himself against the night's chill.

Working his way through the house he finally saw a sliver of light escaping from under the kitchen door. He could hear neither voices nor any other noises so he felt sure to assume that Gregory hadn't run afoul of a burglar in the middle of the night.

When he entered the kitchen he found Gregory sitting at the table looking up guiltily with a fork of cake half way in his mouth.

"Bid I way u?" He asked around a full mouth.

Watching the crumbs fall from Lestrade's mouth in a distinctly undignified way, Mycroft tsk'ed.

"Your absence did." He explained while cleaning away the crumbs with kitchen roll.

Greg swallowed. "Sorry, I had a severe case of the munchies. And when I remembered we still had some cake leftovers I couldn't resist." He smiled slyly at the dishevelled man before him. "Want to join?" He offered his fork.

Mycroft contemplated the offer. He really shouldn't...

"Move over."

"We can always work it off later."


	14. You're having a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched 'the Six Thatchers'. In an attempt to keep the recent episode compatible with Mystrade I had to give a little something for the "Lestrade has a date with a brunette" scene.
> 
> NOT part of my headcanon. There will be another definite version featured in a future story.

Sherlock wanted cases.

He needed cases.

He hardly ever turned Lestrade away but at this point he even took anything Gregson or that woman brought his way. After the airport and the little episode in front of the triumvirate Sherlock knew he had to stay occupied. If he didn’t stay focused on cases, he would screw up sooner or later with his little habit. Mycroft and him had a little ‘talk’ about this.

Several talks.

None of them all that little if he was honest.

And the worst part was that his twat of a big brother was absolutely right. He usually was.

And Sherlock hated that more than anything else.

So while he did his best to keep his mind occupied with all the little cases that usually were beneath him, he kept telling himself that Moriarty would save him from beyond the grave eventually.

In the meantime he tried avoiding Mycroft until it became necessary to talk. It was a blessing that Lestrade could read his mood well enough to avoid even mentioning his live-in boyfriend. Or maybe the twat had warned him. No, that was unlikely. Lestrade was living with Mycroft and whether he talked about it or not everything about him screamed the facts at Sherlock. Mycroft would know any warning would be useless.

So when the Detective Inspector came in and was so very obviously prepared to go out to a restaurant for lunch, he couldn’t help himself. He KNEW that Mycroft’s schedule allowed them for little time together at the best of times, never to mention right now when he had to still pick up the pieces of Sherlock’s latest screw-up. He also knew that Mycroft hated the publicity of restaurants. So the date was obviously with someone else - probably work related. But not completely judging by the circumstantial evidence.

When John wanted to know if Lestrade would accompany them, Sherlock blurted it out before the policeman had a chance.

"No, he has a lunch date with a brunette.” He babbled on a bit to explain how and why it should be obvious for anyone - even John - to see.

Lestrade was unsure what to say to that. Sherlock and Mycroft’s relationship was strained at the moment so acknowledging anything at this point was risky.

“Trust me that she's not right for you." How could Lestrade do something like this to Mycroft? No matter how he felt about his brother, he knew this would break him. And despite the recent strain, Sherlock didn’t want that.

Lestrade was lost now. Whatever gave Sherlock the idea that he was meeting some random woman? For a ‘date’-date no less. All he could manage was a weak "What?"

"She's not the one!" Even a fool like Gary - who probably had some midlife crisis and needed the recognition of another human being outside of his stable and boring relationship - should see that him and the twat worked well with each other. Mycroft wasn’t really good at showing affection or giving validation to people who needed it. Sherlock knew that better than anyone. So it was understandable that Gustave would check out his market value. It might even start completely harmless, just a little thing to boost his own ego. But although he doubted Lestrade meant anything too serious by this, it would break Mycroft’s cold, crumbled heart.

“Sherlock, I have no idea what is going on in that mind of yours, but calm down, take care of the case, and leave my love life to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'brunette' in question is of course Mycroft, Sherlock often jumps to conclusions and sometimes he's just wrong.
> 
> Also I'm just happy that between the end of TAB and the end of T6T there are obviously many months for John/Mary and many cases they solved as a team of three (plus baby).


	15. BABY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one partly to blame on Sylvana_Floete. Written before the "I've never been really good with them" scene, (well I added Rosie's name afterwards) which only shows that the writers and I agree on Mycroft's stance on babies.

They were visiting with the Watsons. Gregory had insisted that Mycroft would accompany him.

“Look we haven’t visited since Rosie was born. They are our friends - no don’t look like that. I know technically they are my friends but they are as close to friends as you let anyone become so they’ll count. And a baby means they are more isolated than before. They need people visiting them instead the other way around.”

At least Sherlock was there as well so he wasn’t the only one totally at a loss at what to do confronted with a tiny human being.

When the attack happened Mycroft quickly started to calculate the most likely source. Two out of Sherlock’s last cases had the potential to provoke this kind of response. None of Gregory’s did. There was always Mary’s past. But the most likely candidate was of course Mycroft himself. He stayed hidden in the shadows as best as he could. But there were still half a dozen possible and even probable explanations for the armed contingent trying to invade the Watson family home that related to Mycroft Holmes. There were several reasons why the British Government didn’t do courtesy calls and not all of them were related to his impatience for social interaction.

Before he could do anything Mycroft suddenly found a baby pushed at him.

“Hold her!”

The elder Holmes was far from happy. The last infant he voluntarily touched was his own brother when he himself was a child. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Mycroft you are the only one here who DOESN'T know how to handle yourself in a physical confrontation. Do something useful." Mary had no patience for Holmesian idiosyncrasies when her family was threatened.

All hell broke lose. Mycroft easily moved out of harm’s way and found the most secure place place in the house. It was a good thing Rosie was still small enough to be held with one arm, so he had little trouble sending a text to Anthea calling in backup. He kept his head down and stayed out of the bullets’ way. Now if the child could just stop adding to the infernal noise level.

When the situation was cleared and some of his people were starting the clean up the mess Mycroft thanked the heavens as Mary came and took her crying daughter.

"I'm smelling of sour milk."

Mary nodded while rocking the infant, calming her down. "I know how to get rid of blood and gunpowder - haven't found a remedy for baby burps yet."

Greg came over from dealing with his colleagues who had arrived on the scene as well. "You know - the baby looked kinda cute on you." He put a quick kiss on Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft frowned; such a show of affection in what basically alluded to being the public wasn’t something he appreciated. "Good to know, then I know what to avoid in the future. I can't afford 'cute'."

Still on the adrenaline rush of fighting for his life while bullets were flying all around this earned Mycroft a lopsided grin. "I promise I won't tell anyone how you look after a night of cuddling then."

Mycroft glared.

Sherlock - completely ignoring the fact that he was just being interviewed by a policeman - rolled his eyes and left the room. He really didn’t want to watch his brother’s private life.

“My suit is ruined. I have a headache from an infant crying and screaming into my ear. I’m also pretty sure that I got half-digested mother’s milk in my hair.”

Greg shook his head. "You have. You're also alive, so quit complaining."

"I'm merely stating facts, Gregory."

"By complaining - in your 'whiny' voice."

John snickered from a few feet away where he helped Mary calming the baby down.

Mycroft was appalled. "I don't have a 'whiny' voice." He kept his voice quiet and even hoping that none of the agents nor the police would catch this little exchange.

"You most definitely do."

Mary agreed "I'm afraid he's right, Mycroft."

"Well if it's any consolation only people who know you very well recognise it. It's very discretely whiny."

"Yes, I doubt anyone outside this house and your parents knows about it."

"And Anthea."

"Well Anthea - of course."

"Would you three PLEASE stop it? It was bad enough when it was just Sherlock but now he isn't even here and I still can't get any peace."


	16. Greg's side - companion piece to "Skeletons"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God simply doesn't want Greg to make DCI. Whenever he tries to do anything for his career STUFF happens ;) Definitely part of my Mystrade headcanon.
> 
> Matomato pointed out we NEEDED Greg's side of the events in "The Final Problem".

Greg was actually enjoying himself more than he would have thought meaning he wasn’t bored out of his mind. The seminar he was currently attending actually had some worthwhile workshops and lectures. He hated going to these kind of things - usually they were obligatory, useless, and the lecturers were idiots. But this time he’d actually applied to get in. He would never get the promotion to DCI if he didn’t attend at least a few of these events and at least half of the workshops during the four day seminar sounded at least partly applicable in real life.

His only regret was that it meant driving up to Ipswich for the four days. Although it was only the second day he missed his own bed already and more importantly the man sharing it.

Greg was confident that the British Government would manage to pass the time without getting into too much trouble but he still missed him. It was silly really but ever since the wedding Greg at least had felt an increased desire to spend as much time as possible around with his spouse. He doubted that he would ever grow tired of hearing Mycroft Holmes calling him ‘husband-mine’.

They had texted earlier in the evening and Greg knew that his husband planned on watching a movie tonight while he himself would be having a pint or two with his colleagues talking shop. It was nice enough meeting other officers from all over the place and Lestrade enjoyed getting to know new people, hearing about their experiences. But he would have rather spent the evening at home anyway. It probably was a sign of him getting old. 

Or maybe Mycroft was showing his influence on him just like he changed his husband’s habits. He grinned when he remembered the first time they had talked about movies. The elder Holmes had been appalled by the very idea of this modern obscenity. Now he was spending an evening enjoying the advantages of their very own projector room at home despite being on his own and no Greg there to push for a movie.  
***

The next morning Greg had an early workshop and had no opportunity to check his phone until his lunch break. He found a voice message from Mycroft.

“Hello - I was calling for no specific reason, so don’t worry about calling back. I hope you’re having a good time at the seminar.” There was a short pause. “I love you, husband-mine.”

Lestrade furrowed his brow. Something about that call was off. Something in Mycroft’s voice hadn’t been right. Maybe he was imagining things but he believed himself to be a rather good interpreter of the Holmes brothers and their weird signals - Mycroft’s in particular.

He walked a couple of steps in front of the hotel while dialing his husband’s mobile number.

It took an unusual amount of time until his call was answered and it wasn’t Mycroft’s voice who did so.

“Hello.”

Greg was startled to hear a voice completely unknown to him. He’d used his speed dial so there was no way he had the wrong number.

“I’m trying to reach Mycroft Holmes.” His voice was cautious and maybe a bit unfriendly but he didn’t care.

“Mr. Holmes is currently not available.”

“And why the hell would that be?” He really had no patience right now.

“There has been an explosion at Baker Street 221b.”

Greg felt like his heart stopped at those words. Baker Street - Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson… Mycroft. “Is he hurt? Was anyone hurt? God I need to talk to him.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Mr. Holmes is currently unconscious and at the hospital. We are still unsure whether he will pull through.” The voice at the phone spoke matter-of-factly as if the man announced the weather forecast.

Greg leaned heavily against the house. He didn’t trust his legs to support him right now. A colleague from the seminar out for a quick fag looked over to him worry clearly written all over his face. Greg realised that he probably looked very pale right now. He fought for his voice.

“Which hospital?”

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information for security reasons, Sir.”

“WHAT?! I’m his husband for crying out loud - you WILL tell me you bloodless bureaucrat or…”

“I’m not able to confirm your identity over the phone and I will not be yelled at or insulted. Mr. Holmes’ whereabouts are currently considered top secret and there’s nothing else I can tell you.”

And with that the man hung up.

Greg was vaguely aware of his colleague - DI Carlton? - coming over, probably wanting to make sure he was alright. He managed a dismissive gesture as he called Anthea.

“Inspector.”

“Which hospital? I just had some bastard tell me, Mycroft was in an explosion and might never wake up and then the asshole refused to tell me WHERE I have to drive to see my bloody husband, so you better tell me before I‘ll…”

“Inspector - Greg, calm down.”

“Calm down?!” A part of him realised he was close to becoming hysteric.

“Mycroft is fine.”

The words had the effect of a cold shower. “What?”

“He is fine. There was an explosion but neither he nor his brother nor Dr. Watson were hurt in any significant way. The landlady was injured but it’s not life threatening.”

“They’re all OK?” His voice now sounded a lot calmer but confused.

“Yes, Inspector. Despite the explosion everyone is more or less alright.”

Greg took a few calming breaths. “Then why - in god’s name - did someone just tell me that Mycroft was on the verge of dying?”

“The explosion WAS an attempt at his life. Keeping everyone thinking that they were close to succeeding was the easiest way to keep him safe for now. Mr. Holmes decided to go undercover himself to get to the bottom of this immediately.”

“And no one thought to inform me?”

Anthea had the decency to pause before answering. “You were safely out of harm’s way in Ipswich and I’m afraid we were all a bit unsettled by this unforeseen turn of events. It has been less than two hours since the explosion.”

A part of him wanted to yell at her but he also knew this wasn’t her fault. It might not even be fully Mycroft’s fault. This was a very unfortunate combination of timing mostly and she did her best to help him now. He decided to reserve the shouting for when he next talked to his husband.

“I see. Thank you for clearing that up. I was halfway on my way to London already but I guess that would be of no use now.”

“Indeed. There’s literally nothing you can do down here at the moment.”

“Well, I won’t stop you from doing things any longer then. Goodbye.”

Only when he’d hung up, Carlton came over asking if he was alright. Greg somehow managed a crooked smile.

“Just had a bit of a shock. But it turns out it was a false alarm after all. I’m fine. Although I could do with a fag.”

Carlton grinned and offered him a cigarette.

“Ta.”  
***

It might seem like a minor miracle but after years of dealing with Sherlock and Mycroft respectively, Greg actually managed to calm down enough to participate in the afternoon seminars.

Any idea of actually finishing the seminar though went right out of the window when during dinner Anthea called him. Anthea never called him. He got up from the table, ignoring his dinner company, as he took the call.

“Yes?”

“Inspector, I need you to get over to a place called Musgrave Manor.”

“Why?”

“It’s the old Holmes’ family estate which burned down decades ago. Sherlock and Dr. Watson are there as well as a woman who escaped from a security institution and nearly killed both of them as well as Mr. Holmes today.”

“She’s behind the explosion?”

“Among other things. Local police is already there but we need someone there experienced in dealing with a Holmes.”

Greg was a tad annoyed. He knew Sherlock could be difficult but surely John should be enough to keep him in check. “You think it’s necessary?” Who was he kidding? He would go anyway. He always jumped when a Holmes needed him.

“Someone has to be there who can be trusted to make sure Eurus Holmes will arrive safely back at the secure facility.”

“Eurus Holmes?” Greg didn’t believe his ears.

“The youngest child, yes, who just spend the better part of the day trying to kill her brothers. She has to be treated with extreme caution. She has a way to influence people. Will you go, Inspector?”

His voice was strangely cold when he answered. “I’m on my way.”

He went up to his room to fetch the bare necessities. When his phone rang and he didn’t recognise the number he ignored it while making his way to the car.

It was a good thing Anthea texted him the address; he doubted he would have found his way without the aid of the GPS. The only explanation he gave his colleagues was ‘family emergency’ before he drove off.

The drive would be almost an hour and his mind was racing, so Greg decided to check his voicemail.

“Gregory, I’m just calling to let you know I’m… fine. I’m not sure when I’ll be home but don’t worry.” Mycroft’s voice croaked. He didn’t even sound remotely OK. Greg guessed he wouldn’t sound all that dandy if his sister had tried to kill him. While he didn’t recognise the number, he called back, hoping that Mycroft still had the phone and would be able to answer.

“Gregory?” His husband sounded almost desperate.

“Mycroft?” 

“I’m fine.” For a diplomat, Mycroft was a terrible liar.

“Then why are you whispering? And why is your voice shaking? And where the hell are you?”

“I’m… at a place called Sherrinford, I was locked up in but I’m not hurt. I’m currently trying to avoid being put back in the cell before reinforcements actually arrive but I’m in no danger.”

“Mycroft, I had a call from Anthea and I’m currently driving up to Musgrave to make sure the local police won’t screw things up with your brother and to hell with jurisdictions and divisions.” He paused choosing his next words carefully. “She told me to make sure Eurus Holmes had to be treated with extreme caution and that I should make sure your sister wouldn’t come to any harm.” He gave Mycroft a chance to explain himself. “Anything you would like to add at this point?”

“Her cell wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“So apparently not. Look I’m glad you’re OK but I’m pulling up to Musgrave so we’ll need to end this call. But this is far from over… Stay safe.” He wasn’t quite there yet. But he really felt that he wouldn’t be able to deal with this over the phone. Whatever else his husband might want to add was cut off as he forcefully ended the call.

He helped to look after Eurus. He promised Sherlock to take care of Mycroft although he wondered that the younger man actually felt compelled to ask. Usually he wouldn’t display his care so openly. Greg guessed the whole thing had rattled everyone involved. Not least of all him.

When he finally made it home to London in the middle of the night he read a text from Anthea.

“MH has his phone back so he’s again available under his own number.”

He was dead tired and terribly, terribly angry. He didn’t think he could manage calling Mycroft right now. He only managed to write his husband a short text.

“We’ll talk once you’re home. - G”


End file.
